


Open your arms and i'll run straight into them.

by rosmarine



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Fluff, Jealousy, Like, M/M, background nurseydex, way too much fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-13 23:08:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7141952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosmarine/pseuds/rosmarine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You realize that friends aren’t monogamous, right? Like, friends can be friends with other people?”<br/>Ransom’s Princess Daisy burst through the finish line. Confetti surrounded her cart and she twirled. But that one word - monogamous. It echoed through his head like a gunshot. </p><p>Ransom and Holster bond, work out, and maintain fake relationships with Disney Princes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open your arms and i'll run straight into them.

**Author's Note:**

> special thanks to sadhipstercat and sin-engine for betaing!!

“Who’s the weirdest person you’ve ever hung out with?” 

Ransom took another swig of his ginger ale, raising an eyebrow.

“You mean besides Shitty?” he asked.

“Nah, man,” said Holster. “Someone I  _ don’t _ know. Besides, Shitty’s like,  _ good _ weird, with progressive ideas and shit. He’ll probably eradicate the wage gap while we’re playing beer pong.” 

Holster was right. Shitty was crazy, but he carried with him the kind of potential usually reserved for movie protagonists and superheroes.

Ransom ran a hand across his chin. It was hard for him to picture anyone he knew that Holster  _ didn’t _ , like he hadn’t existed before he met Holster.

“Fifth grade,” Ransom said. “My best friend was a hardcore taxidermist.” 

Holster’s socked foot nudged Ransom’s thigh. 

“You’re shitting me. Like, mini Norman Bates?” Holster mimed the stabbing scene.

“Mh-mh.” Ransom opened his arms. “Lay it on me.” Holster tossed him a yellow starburst, and Ransom added it to his pyramid.

Holster and Ransom had not always been a single, gloriously hyphenated Ransom-and-Holster, inextricable. There was a time when late night bonding, aka asking increasingly personal questions with starbursts, had been a stepping stone towards friendship.

But, somehow, both boys had a large enough fondness for starbursts and each other to keep the tradition going.

“Your turn, buddy,” said Ransom. He closed his eyes and reaching into the bag strewn between them, pulling out a starburst. His eyes flew open. 

“Orange. Personal interests.”

Holster groaned. “Come on, Rans. Orange, is like, the worst. It tastes like a creamsicle that got shoved inside a gym locker.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just make such a blasphemous remark,” said Ransom.

Ransom paused. He didn’t really have any questions for Holster, any casual bits of information he didn’t already know. He knew as much about Holster’s childhood as Holster did (crowded, homey, a chicken coup in his backyard). He knew about his goals and aspirations (professional hockey, growing the perfect eggplant) and his fears (failure, dinosaurs).

“Favorite Disney Princess?” asked Ransom.

“Objection,” said Holster. “You asked me that on October 3rd, 2015. Mean Girl’s day. New question.”

“You can remember that, but you can’t remember our friendship anniversary? Bro, I’m hurt.”

Holster shrugged. “Some things stick, some don’t.”

“All right. Favorite Disney Prince.”

Holster scratched his ear.

“Flynn Rider, hands down.”

“You mean Eugene? Get out.”

Holster shrugged, his lips tilted upwards in a grin. “The dude’s got a wicked smoulder.” Theoretically, Holster can cap it at that, because the rulebook - the one that Ransom and Holster had spent an entire two weeks brainstorming, documenting, and binding - did not call for a follow up question, judgement, or elaboration.

If Holster had stopped there, he would’ve saved Ransom a dump truck full of trouble.

He didn’t.

“As a matter of fact,” Holster said, too casually, “he’s the most fuckable of the Disney Princes.”

Suddenly, the linen sheets cocooned around Ransom’s legs felt like a swamp. He felt like he’d been climbing the steps in the dark and missed one, his foot sailing through empty air. It would be a crime for Ransom to not share his own opinion.

“Really?” he asked, tossing the starburst straight into Holster’s grasp. “Because my first wet dream was about prince Adam.”

Ransom bit his lip. For a moment, it hung in the air between them, like a circuit that wasn’t quite closed.

“Nah man,” said Holster. “Too close to beastiality. You gotta draw a line in the sand, bro.”

The both ended up passed out on the bottom bunk, empty candy wrappers awkwardly crinkling with every movement.

_/.\\_

The sun wasn’t blistering, but it was warm enough that Ransom could trek across campus without picking icicles out of his ears.

Which was perfect, since he and Holster were clad only in gym shorts and the ugliest muscly tanks ever, because Holster lived to be ironic.

Ransom spotted Holster as he bench pressed. 

“Bro, you’re on fire,” he said. “Are you sure you’re not taking steroids?”

Holster let out a weird grunt. Ransom wrapped his hands around the bar, guiding it back to its cradle. 

Holster sat up, catching the towel thrown at him.

Ransom stared at him as he guzzled a water bottle, sweat beading on his forehead, his chest heaving up and down.

Ransom had known Holster for years. Maybe he was being a bit overdramatic, but it killed him that there was one thing he hadn’t discovered until the night before, one very important aspect.  _ What _ , thought Ransom,  _ that Holster liked princes? _

“Nah bro,” said Holster. “I just gotta impress my man Eugene, you know?”

Ransom rolled his eyes. “Right. Well, I know that Adam loves me unconditionally.”

Ransom slipped down. The bench was still warm and a little moist. Whatever. Ransom had shared a lot more than sweat with the guy he’d been living with for two and a half years. 

But, like everything else in his and Holster’s life, Ransom decided to turn it into a competition.

“FOR ADAM,” he roared, and he lowered the bar to his chest.

_/.\\_

The door to the haus swung shut behind him, and Ransom was assaulted by the most delicious smell that had ever graced this atmosphere. 

“Hey, Bits,” said Ransom, ruffling Bitty’s hair.

“Hey, Rans. Pie’s at two.”

Ransom could always trust Bitty to get right to the good part.

From across the room, Ransom spotted the back of Holster’s blond head peeking over the couch. Ransom strutted over, resting his chin on Holster’s shoulder. But it felt...strange. Like there was an intangible line, and he was crossing it.

“What’s up?” he asked, keeping his tone neutral. 

He grabbed Holster’s shoulder and vaulted over the couch, into the empty space next to him. 

Across the room, Dex and Nursey shared an armchair that really was only large enough for a single person. 

Dex read, his eyes flattened in a look of mild annoyance, and Nursey sprawled across him, scrolling through his phone.

“I’m making a mixtape,” said Holster, typing a few keys on his laptop. 

“Really?”

“For Eugene.”

“You’re a bleeding heart, Holtzy.” Ransom grinned. “You’ve got this one in the bag.” Holster punched his shoulder. 

“Mixtapes, like, always equal getting laid, bro.”

Just over the top of the screen, Ransom glimpsed Nursey. An eyebrow skyrocketed. And - did Dex turn a shade redder?

“Well,” said Ransom, “if I had a mixtape, I’d name it ‘Adam’s sex noises’, because I’d always be listening to it.” He roared with laughter, shaking the couch. 

Holster groaned, tossing his head back.

Ransom laughed like a hyena. Holster shot back up, his face turning pink.

“It’s live,” said Holster.

Ransom’s phone lit up, vibrating on his knee. Holster grabbed it.

“Bro, you subscribed to me on 8tracks? I’m touched.”

“Of course I did. I follow all your social media accounts. It’s in my best-friend contract.”

“Dex, how come you don’t follow my instagram?” asked Nursey.

“Because I have better things to do than liking your photos of macaroons.”

Nursey punched Dex on the shoulder, connecting with a loud  _ oomph _ . Dex jerked backwards. 

“You,” said Nursey, “are missing out on, like, a new age of art, my man.”

Dex grumbled something, and the only words Ransom could make out were “garbage” and “what the hell even is a meme”. 

_/.\\_

The thing about Ransom is that he never got jealous. Like, he’d been in threesomes before with no problems. Until suddenly Ransom was spending his afternoons playing Mario Kart with Chowder while Holster went off and did Poetry slams with Nursey. Without him.

“Holster doesn’t even  _ like _ poetry,” said Ransom. He knew bottling up emotions would affect his performance, and, well, Chowder just was so open.

Chowder hit a banana peel.

“But poetry’s so cool! It’s like, words, and emotions! And Nursey’s really good at it!”

“That’s great man,” said Ransom, yanking his controller. “Can he just not be good at it with my main bro?” Under his breath, he mumbled, “whatever. At least the real Adam wouldn’t drop me like that.”

Suddenly, all he could picture was Nursey writing haikus and splitting best friend sundaes with Holster.

“Uhm, Ransom?”

“Yeah, Chow?”

“You realize that friends aren’t monogamous, right? Like, friends can be friends with other people?”

Ransom’s Princess Daisy burst through the finish line. Confetti surrounded her cart and she twirled. But that one word - monogamous. It echoed through his head like a gunshot. 

“Yeah, man, I know.”

Chowder, his Mario in last place, let out a groan as he was hit by his own green shell. 

_/.\\_

Ransom’s headphones didn’t quite drown out the slamming of his bedroom door, despite his best efforts. 

He was leafing through a copy of  _ In Cold Blood _ . His bookmark remained painfully close to where it had been an hour ago.

Ransom’s heart pounded. Maybe, if he subtly faced the wall, he could pretend - 

Holster’s head flopped into view, as if he were a golden retriever. 

Avoiding someone was hard, especially when you spent twenty hours a day joined at the hip and shared a room.

“Bro,” said Holster, “you gotta come to poetry slam. The chicks there are, like, unbelievable. And they’ve all got fetishes for guys with glasses.”

Ransom gritted his teeth. 

“Really?” he intoned, pointedly turning a page.

“Well, I mean, some girls have a thing for girls in glasses, but, you know.” 

Anger flared up in Ransom like a forest fire, untamed.

“Sounds ‘swawesome, bro. But I gotta read this.”

Holster cocked his head. “That’s not on any of your class reading lists,” he said. And Ransom couldn’t even be annoyed that Holster was so goddamn attentive. In fact, he was  _ flattered.  _ Stupid fucking emotions.

Holster continued. “Hey, weren’t you complaining about that book last week?”

Ransom rolled his lip between his teeth, biting it.

Holster leaned over him. A shadow fell across the page, and the universe smelled like Holster’s shower gel.

The one Ransom definitely hadn’t used to jerk off that morning.

“You know,” said Holster, “if it’s just for pleasure, you have no obligation to finish it, bro.”

Ransom rolled over, flat on his back.

“Yes, I do!”

His chest was rising and falling, his hip pressing into Holster’s stomach.

Ransom slammed the book against the bed. “I can’t just not know the ending. It’s a crime novel!”

“Just google it, dude. Or watch the movie.”

For the first time in days, Ransom looked at Holster. He was killing it in that baby blue hoodie, and light reflected off of the smudges on his lenses.

“Nah, bro,” said Ransom, tension ebbing out of him like soft waves hitting a sandy shore. “Taking the easy way out would kill me.”

A pressure nudged against Holster’s thigh.

“Sounds like a certain prince I happen to be seeing,” said Holster. “Make room for Holtzy.” He sprawled across Holster’s bunk. Ransom sat up, pressing his back against the wall, and Holster pillowed his head on Ransom’s lap. 

And just like that, the slight tinge of resentment that had been creeping up on Ransom all day had dissipated like smoke. Ransom could never stay mad at Holster for more than an instant - Holster was the only person who, if he opened his arms, Ransom would go running straight into them.

“Can you read it to me?” asked Holster.  _ Because I shouldn’t have to go through this grueling torture alone, _ Ransom’s brain supplied.

He grinned. 

“Over four thousand miles away,” he read, “Dick sat down to a family dinner.”

_/.\\_

It was a subtle blessing that Ransom and Holster had made up - or, Ransom begrudgingly admitted, Ransom had stopped sulking. Because they had a game that weekend. 

Halfway through the game, Holster sent the puck straight into the back of the net, and Ransom jumped onto his back. 

The team was winning by a landslide, but excitement still coursed through his veins. 

The entire team piled on top of them. After a moment, everyone cleared off by Ransom. They stood alone, their foreheads knocking together, for a little longer than necessary. Okay, way longer than necessary. 

Holster grabbed the side of Ransom’s helmet. 

“That one was for my man Eugene,” he said. And for a second, something red and hot flared up inside Ransom. 

But that was ridiculous, right? He couldn’t be jealous of someone who didn’t exist. 

Oh, god. Ransom was jealous of a fictional character. Just when he thought he couldn’t sink any lower, someone handed him a shovel.

Ransom managed a grin that he hoped wasn’t maniac, and they took their places back on the ice. 

In the last ten minutes of the game, Holster made a beautiful pass, through two defenders and Ransom took the pick, flying down the court, sending it right between the goalie’s legs. 

There was another dogpile, and Ransom just screamed, “FOR ADAM!”

Silence. 

“Bro,” said Dex, “no offense, but that’s the gayest thing I’ve ever heard. And yesterday Nursey said my freckles reminded him of constellations reaching across the night sky while he was fucking me.”

Ransom felt all the blood rush to his face, and suddenly he had to look anywhere but Holster.

Because yeah, he had these feelings. They were new, super intense, and made him want to vomit a rainbow or something. But they also held the promise of fucking up the best relationship Ransom had ever had, and might ever have.

They went back to the ice and played keepaway for the last five minutes of the game. When the buzzer sounded, he and Holster met up for their customary end of game hug, and things felt a little less life threatening.

_/.\\_

On the bus ride home, the weird tension seemed to have seeped out of Ransom’s head. It was dark, and they were driving straight across the highway, back home.

The lights dimmed, but Ransom was filled with a restless energy. When it seemed like the bus was filled with pillows and blankets and sleeping passengers, Ransom felt a tap on his shoulder. 

Holster slid his ipad out of his drawstring bag and offered Ransom an earbud.

“I got your favorite movie,” he said. “Want to kill some time?” 

Ransom nodded, and the video powered up. 

It was Beauty and the Beast, because Holster loved him dearly. 

They huddled together. For a moment, Ransom felt like he could spend the rest of his life in a bubble trapped between destinations, chuckling into Holster’s shoulder.

“I bet Eugene would be a better sugar daddy,” said Holster.

It was just a little too far past Ransom’s strict bedtime, and his verbal filter was malfunctioning.

“I’m jealous of Eugene,” Ransom pouted.

“No worries, bro,” said Holster, his voice low, “I can hook you up with some redheaded honey.”

Ransom shook his head. Time to dig himself to the center of the earth. “That's not what I - shit, nevermind.” He shifted to lean his head against the window. His face felt like embers had been shoved just beneath the surface, chilled by the cool glass window. 

He glanced back at his best friend. 

Holster was staring at him. 

“I’m not gonna lie, bro,” said Holster, “It’s been killing me to hear you talk about how much you want to fuck Adam.”

For a second, Ransom was certain that the bus had crashed. He had gone to heaven. There would be a fountain of Siracha or something. 

He was jolted, the bus passing over a pothole. 

Ransom leaned forwards, the movie forgotten between them. 

“What can I say, I have a thing for blondes named Adam.”

“That’s the least romantic thing I’ve ever heard,” muttered Holster, but it must’ve worked, because he leaned forwards, kissing Ransom. 

Holster tasted like chocolate protein bars and peppermints. Ransom cupped a hand along  Holster’s jaw, finning his fingers over the fine stubble. He could still feel the indent left by the helmet. 

They broke apart. 

“ _ Be our guest,”  _ mumbled Holster, “ _ be our guest, put our service to the test. _ ”

“Bro, I love it when you serenade me.”

They both dissolved into laughter. 

Ten minutes later, Ransom was fast asleep, his head rolling on Holster’s shoulder. 

_/.\\_

Starburst night turned into a Haus-wide event, which is how Ransom and Holster found out that Bitty’s childhood dream was to become a pastry chef, Lardo once accidentally punched a duck, and Shitty’s biggest fear was the patriarchy. 

Ransom was already chewing on an orange starburst when Bitty asked, “so, when are ya’ll gonna be bringing around this Eugene?”

Ransom almost choked. After the bus, that thing had come to a screeching halt. 

Holster pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. 

“Objection. According to the official rulebook - “ Ransom tapped on the hardcover copy of  _ Starbursts and Shit  _ \- “questions can only be directed at one recipient.” 

Ransom glanced sideways at him, and the both burst out laughing.

“Eugene doesn’t go to our school,” said Ransom, slinging an arm around Holster’s shoulder. ”He lives in Corona, and he’s actually married to a magical girl.

A hush came over the entire room.

“You mean,” said Bitty, “Eugene, as in Flynn Rider, from the little Tangled? All this time you’ve been pretending to date someone who doesn’t exist?”

“Pretty much,” said Holster. 

Shitty fist-pumped, and Lardo and Nursey shared a groan.

“Pay up, dickhats,” said Shitty. They shoved crumpled bills into his fists. 

“You guys made bets without us?” asked Ransom.

“They were about you, dudes,” said Shitty.

“Nursey said you were in a poly relationship,” said Lardo, “I thought Holster was about to break your heart - and I would’ve totally been there for you - and Shitty thought you were both being idiots.”

Ransom turned. “Hear that, Holster? We’re both idiots.”

“Oh, I know.”

“Wait,” said Dex,” did you actually make a mixtape for Eugene?”

Holster threw a starburst at Dex. It landed in his lap. 

“Hell yeah I did. 8tracks is tight.”

Ransom grinned. He and Holster had combined their piles of starbursts and started a game of tic-tac-toe.

He thought of the CD  he kept stashed behind his medical encyclopedia, its titles written in sharpie.

It would find its way into Holster’s backpack eventually.

But, surrounded by warm beer and good friends, Ransom had some orange starbursts to eat.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! Come follow me on [tumblr](http://www.pointyderek.tumblr.com), i love taking prompts and beta-ing.


End file.
